I’m lying here awake and my brain just won’t shut off so I can sleep.  The funny thing about using the grammatically correct word there is the fact that what is going through my head is a stream of all the many times I’ve been humiliated and accused of lying by people who had nothing to gain from doing so except to draw satisfaction from my misery.

I never could understand why in the hell I’ve always been accused of lying by random people about random ass things at that.  The kinds of things I’ve been accused of were always so incredibly ridiculous and easily proven false.  And yet as my luck would have it, people would actually believe my accusers.

Of course this has left me with mixed feelings of paranoia, outrage and the ever-present questioning of my own sanity and those around me.  The only way to combat this is by filling my time and my thoughts with activity.  My children helped with this because I could focus on them and their care and making sure I don’t make the same mistakes my parents made with me (aside from the obvious big ones).  But since they’re being held hostage by the government, I don’t have that right now and I know know when I’ll get it back.

It’s a vicious cycle I live in mentally.  I can fill my time with activities they require my attention so there isn’t any time for it to drift until I’m asleep and start to dream.  But that only lasts as long as the anxiety will allow it before letting depression completely take over and rob me of all motivation.

The only thing that kept me from giving into depression was my children.  Loving them, caring for them.  It fulfilled me.  They fulfilled me.  Being their mother was the only thing I felt good about in my life no matter how I was doing with other areas of my life.

And you know what else makes these nights even worse?

Therapy.

My god are those sessions triggering.  And they send me into a downward spiral into despair and hopelessness.

But the courts want me to go every week.

Anxiety is such a fickle, two-faced bitch.  It’s the only thing getting me out of bed to keep my job because I’m downright terrified of being homeless again.  But at the same time, it’s the thing that makes it incredibly difficult to get the hell out of bed to do anything else out of an irrational fear that I’ll fuck it up or piss someone off somehow.

Goddamnit, I need to go to sleep……….

Sorry for taking so long to write something.  I’ll write more later.  My new therapist will probably insist on it.

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